Moments
by CMPerry
Summary: A series of Destiel one-shots. Some fluffy, some funny, some dark, all Destiel. [Follow-up to The Truth Will Out]
1. Illusions

Dean felt a dark smile on his lips as he advanced on Cas. The angel's imploring words filled the air unheeded as Dean cornered him in the dark library. Cas looked like he was going to put up a fight, and Dean's smile grew wider. Cas threw the first punch, but Dean caught his arm and twisted it until he heard something crack. With his other hand, he struck Cas across the face, sending him stumbling, but a second later, Cas was upright again, his hands on Dean's chest begging him to stop, begging him not to let the Mark of Cain control him. It was laughable, seeing the once-powerful angel bleeding at his mercy. Dean hit him again and this time Cas lost his balance and fell backwards onto the pile of books in the centre of the room, two other bodies already lying beside him. The pounding of his own adrenaline-spiked blood in his ears made him deaf to Castiel's words as he lifted him by the shirt and hit him again and again. With each blow came a cry of pain. Cas looked up at him, silently begging him to stop.

"Dean," he choked through the blood that was filling his mouth, but the angel made no further sound as Dean lifted the angel blade from Cas's sleeve and drove it into his chest. With a flash of blue-white light, his body went limp, and Dean dropped him to the ground. He looked at the empty vessel with satisfaction, and remained watching as the angel's bright blue eyes dulled and glazed.

Dean was woken by a sharp, painful gasp. His eyes snapped open and he found himself immediately sitting upright in bed. He threw off the covers, opened the door and tore through the long corridors of the bunker, pulling himself round corners until he reached the library where he found Cas sitting at one of the large desks. Seeing his expression, Cas stood and opened his mouth to speak but Dean didn't give him the opportunity; he grabbed the angel and pulled him into a tight embrace. He felt his heart hammering against his chest, and his shuddering breaths that seemed magnified against Cas's body. Just holding Cas started to steady him, and after a few seconds, he stepped back.

"What's wrong?" asked Cas, his brow furrowed, his eyes concerned. Dean realised before he had even spoken how feeble the words would sound, but nevertheless, he voiced them.

"I had a nightmare."

"What happened?"

"It was back when I still had the Mark of Cain… we were fighting in here, like before, but this time I didn't stop and I…" he couldn't finish the sentence.

"You killed me," Cas finished, his gravelly voice sombre. Dean felt a cold wave course through him at the words, but he nodded slowly. "But you didn't Dean. I'm still here, and the Mark is gone."

"I know. It just felt so real. I could feel everything, and I…" he choked on the words. "I enjoyed it."

"Dean," Cas said, more firmly this time. "That was never you. That was the Mark influencing you. You know you're a good man, and you know you'd never hurt me, never of your own volition."

"I know," he said quietly.

"It's late," Cas said, glancing at the clock over Dean's shoulder. "You should rest."

"Yeah, okay," Dean conceded, turning a little reluctantly to the door, but not before he took one last look at the angel, committing him to memory as he stood there, very much alive.

The rest of the night passed in a broken but mercifully dreamless sleep. The following night however, the nightmare paid him another visit. It was almost exactly the same as the night before, except this time, as Cas lay at his mercy, pleading for his life, Dean discarded the angel blade, and he decided that he would get much more satisfaction from beating the angel to death with his own hands. Cas fought feebly against Dean as his face grew bloodier and bloodier, his armed pinned to the ground by Dean's knees. At long last he stopped fighting and fell limp.

Dean was awoken again as the sick pleasure melted into horror at what he had done. Unable to help himself he stood and went immediately to find Cas. Amid all the terror and guilt, the only other thing he felt was a desperate need to see the angel's face. This time he stopped in the library doorway, resting his head against the wood as he caught sight of Cas, reborn, safe. Cas looked up, and almost immediately a look of sympathetic recognition came across his face.

"It happened again," Cas said. Dean nodded. "Is there anything I can do?"

"I don't think so," Dean said. "Once I see you, I'm fine. Even when I wake up and I know it was a dream, it still feels like it might be real until I see you."

"Well I'm not going anywhere," Cas said, with a reassuring smile.

* * *

A week passed, and every night, Dean was hounded by the same nightmare, but every night it became more graphic, more violent, more real. He was exhausted. Dark streaks had formed under his eyes, and his cheeks looked sunken and sallow. Sam and Cas had started watching him carefully, as if he might keel over at any moment, but besides the exhaustion, Dean felt relatively normal during the day. He continued to work cases, watch TV, go to bars, but as the afternoons drew in and the sky grew dark, a mounting feeling of dread swelled inside him. His bedroom became a place of fear instead of safety, and when he stepped inside in the small hours of the morning, closed the door and switched off the light, he felt the dreams begin to circle him in the dark, closing in.

About two weeks after the dreams began, Dean opened his eyes to see the red glow of his clock that told him it was five past eight in the morning. It was the first night he hadn't been tormented by the nightmare. Before he could begin to wonder what had changed, he became aware of a weight on the other side of the bed, and the distinct sound of someone else's breathing. He rolled over to see Cas sitting on his bed, his back straight against the headboard.

"Uh, Cas…" Dean said, his voice a little hoarse. "What are you doing?"

"An experiment," he said, simply. "Did you have the nightmare?"

"No."

"Good," he smiled, getting up and heading for the door.

"Did you sit there all night?" Dean asked.

"Yes."

"Thank you," he said, slightly bewildered, but nevertheless relieved to have had a full, uninterrupted night's sleep. However, as the day went on, his gratitude faded to be replaced with slight embarrassment.

"Would you like me to sit with you again?" asked Cas, as Dean prepared to go to bed.

"No, it's fine," Dean said, hurriedly. "I'm sure I'll be okay." He would have felt vulnerable asking the angel into his bedroom to protect him from something that wasn't even real, so his own inhibitions propelled him along the corridor to his small, windowless bedroom alone.

It was only a matter of minutes before realised that he had made a mistake, as the familiar fear of sleep came over him, that tightening anxiety in his chest as he imagined how he might murder his best friend that night. But he knew he couldn't predict it. His actions in the dreams were always far beyond anything he could imagine in brutality and violence; he would just have to wait for the inconceivable horrors that, in a few short hours, would be seared into his mind until the day he died. Before he knew what he was doing, he was back in the library.

"Would you stay with me?" he asked. Cas gave a small smile and nodded.

"Of course."

* * *

It became their habit, and Dean quickly stopped feeling embarrassed and began to look forward to sleep again. Two weeks later, however, Dean awoke to find his head resting on Cas's chest, the angel's arm hanging casually over his shoulder, while he held a book in his free hand.

"Sorry," Dean mumbled, pushing himself off hastily.

"Don't be," Cas said.

That night, Dean closed his laptop and headed for his room, Cas following behind. But he was suddenly reminded of the awkward position in which he had woken up that morning, and, more concerning than that, how very comfortable it had felt.

"Uh, you know what," Dean said, stopping and turning to face Cas. "I think I should be okay tonight. I think I've got the nightmare thing under control." For a moment, Dean thought Cas looked a little crestfallen, but a second later he had a smile on his face.

"I'm glad," said Cas. "Goodnight, Dean."

* * *

The nightmare woke him again early the next morning, but instead of horror he felt a wave of relief, because this time he hadn't killed Cas. He had managed to see through the red haze that invaded his mind, and as he looked down at Cas, pleading once again for his life, he could hear his own voice in his head, telling him that he had to stop, that he didn't want to hurt the angel. Now that he was awake, he still felt guilty for hurting Cas at all, but it was progress at least.

Deciding he would go and tell Cas about his relative success, Dean tried to sit up but quickly realised that he couldn't move. He felt a sudden rush of panic to find that his limbs were pinned to the bed; he was completely immobile except for his eyes, and he knew that he hadn't really woken up at all; he was still trapped inside his nightmare. He heard a drip land on his bedclothes and looked down to see something dark staining the duvet. Another drip, but this one landed on his forehead and it felt hot. He looked up to the ceiling where Cas was suspended, eyes wide and terrified as he looked silently down at Dean, a deep gash across his abdomen. Dean knew what was coming next before it happened. With no warning, the room was suddenly flooded with light as Cas was engulfed in flames.

"Cas!" Dean screamed for him, fighting against his invisible bonds, trying desperately to reach Cas as his screams of pain filled the air, mixing with his own. He couldn't look away, his eyes trained on Cas as the flames consumed him, all the while struggling in vain to save him.

Through the screams, Dean heard someone say his name, he felt pressure on his arms and suddenly he was awake, really awake this time. Cas was sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands on Dean's shoulders.

"Dean, it's me. Wake up!" Dean sat up swiftly, his fingers clutching tightly to Cas's forearms. His breathing was coming in ragged gasps as he tried to calm himself, reminding himself over and over that Cas was fine. He looked up at the angel who was watching him with deep concern in his eyes.

"Was it the same dream?" he asked. Dean shook his head.

"Worse," he croaked.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Dean shook his head again.

"Not tonight," he said. He finally released his grip on Cas, taking a few slow breaths. "Would you stay with me again?" he asked, all concern for his self-consciousness disregarded.

"Of course," Cas said, kicking off his shoes and climbing onto the bed. They didn't speak as Dean lay back down and Cas settled himself in a sitting position, but Dean deliberately shifted his arm so that it was touching Cas's hand. It seemed to ground him, and remind him that the angel was safe by his side. Several minutes passed before enough of the adrenaline had faded from his system for him to become tired again. As he looked up at the white ceiling, listening to Cas's soft breathing beside him, he realised that he was becoming less afraid that he might hurt Cas, and far more afraid that someone or something might take his angel away from him.

* * *

Although the nightmares had stopped altogether, Cas still sat with him while he slept, and even when Dean woke up one morning with his arm stretched across Cas's chest, he didn't suggest that they put an end to their new arrangement. In fact, as the days and weeks passed, Dean found himself edging close and closer to the angel.

The fact that they were spending the night in the same room didn't seem to concern or surprise Sam in the slightest. One night, as Sam was passing Dean's door, he saw them both going inside and gave a small, knowing smile.

"Goodnight," Sam said, mischievously.

"It's not what it looks like," Dean said, dryly, hearing the amusement in his voice.

"Okay," Sam conceded, but the little smirk didn't disappear as he walked along the corridor to his own room. Dean went inside and pulled off his jeans, folding them neatly and hanging them over the back of his desk chair.

"What did you mean when you said 'it's not what it looks like'?" asked Cas. Dean groaned inwardly and he took off his socks.

"Really?" he asked.

"I didn't understand the reference."

"Sam was suggesting that we might be doing something other than sleeping in here."

"Like what?" Cas asked, his head tilted slightly to the side as he watched Dean with curiosity.

"Like having sex, Cas," he said, his embarrassment manifesting itself as irritability.

"Oh." Dean climbed into bed and Cas assumed his regular position on top of the covers on the other side of the bed. "We could if you liked." Dean inadvertently stopped breathing.

"We... what?"

"Well we do share a bed," Cas said, shrugging casually, but Dean didn't miss the look of anticipation in his eyes.

"Yeah…" Dean said. "That's true." He propped himself up against the headboard and turned to look at Cas, studying his face carefully. "You do know what you're suggesting?" Dean checked.

"Yes," Cas said. "I may not understand certain figures of speech, but I'm not completely naïve. And I'm not completely devoid of human desires either."

"I'm beginning to notice that," Dean said, surprised to find that, of the many emotions he was experiencing at that moment, hesitancy was not one of them.

* * *

Sam closed his book and laid it on the nightstand before switching off the lamp. He took a few moments to get comfortable, but soon he could feel himself slipping into sleep. But he was suddenly upright again when he heard the sound of something smashing in Dean's room. He pulled his gun swiftly from the drawer beside his bed and crept out into the corridor, the only sound now was his pulse hammering in his ears. He readjusted his grip on the gun, edging closer and closer to his brother's door, listening intently for another sound. He pushed open Dean's door, gun raised, and saw Cas on top of Dean, kissing him, wearing nothing but his white shirt with his knees either side of Dean's hips, Dean's hands in Cas's hair. The bedside lamp lay shattered on the floor where, by the looks of things, Dean had knocked it off with his elbow.

The bedroom door hit the wall, Cas whipped around and Dean sat up to see Sam standing there. Sam was surprised to see the complete lack of embarrassment on Dean's face.

"I don't know what to say, man," said Dean with an apologetic grin. "It's exactly what it looks like."


	2. Mail

It was late on a Sunday night and Dean was still awake watching trashy TV, waiting for Sam to come home. When the clock hit 1.43am he heard the heavy door of the bunker swing open and footsteps on the metal stairs, and felt himself noticeably relax.

"Hey," Dean said, looking around as Sam entered the room, but he immediately noticed that his little brother looked worried. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," Sam said. "It's just... I went to Bobby's house."

"Why?" Dean asked, passing his brother the bottle of beer he had been about to open for himself.

Sam took the beer and gave a noncommittal shrug. "I don't know, I like to visit. It still feels like home sometimes. I miss it."

"You never told me," Dean said, wishing he could have been there, not just for himself, but for Sam too. As if he had read his mind, Sam continued.

"We can go there together sometime if you want, but it's just something I like to do by myself every once in a while." Dean nodded in understanding. "Anyway," Sam continued, "I was cleaning up some of the debris from the house and I found the panic room, still pretty much undamaged by the fire. I was looking through some of the stuff and I found a box of letters. There's one for you." He held out a slightly grubby letter with Dean's name written across the front in Bobby's familiar handwriting. Dean took it, but didn't open it immediately.

"Did you get one?" Dean asked.

"Yeah."

"What are they?"

"They're letters he wrote the year before he died, just in case something happened to him."

"What did yours say?" Dean asked, his fingers poised over the top of the envelope, suddenly nervous.

"Pretty much what you'd expect. He called me out on my faults, gave me some good advice… you know what he's like, he doesn't sugar-coat it." Dean gave a little laugh and peeled open the envelope. Sam gave him a reassuring nod and he unfolded the letter.

 _Dean,_

 _Okay so if you're reading this, I'm dead. And if I'm not dead, get the hell out of my stuff you nosy sonofabitch._

 _Even if I did get the chance to say goodbye before I kicked the bucket, I don't think I'll have had the time or the cojones to tell you everything I wanna say. So here it is._

 _I'm sorry I'm not around to see you boys grow up. When I say grow up… as I'm writing this you're 32 years old, but you'll always be my boy, no matter how old you get or how brave you act. I know I'm getting all sappy, but you'd better buckle up because I ain't finished._

 _Of everything I've ever done in my life, raising you two was the most infuriating and rewarding thing I ever did and I'm so proud of you. Don't get me wrong, you can be a monumental ass (and so can Sam) but don't ever, ever forget that you are – and always will be – a good man, Dean._

 _Now, I loved your father like a brother, but I don't feel guilty when I say that you are a much better man than he ever was (God rest his soul). He was a damn good mentor, but he wasn't a great father. He put too much on your shoulders and you were too damn young, but I don't want you to use that as a reason not to have a family of your own one day._

 _I've known you a long time, kiddo, and I know that you'll make excuse after excuse for why you shouldn't settle down. "I'd be putting my family in danger," "I won't live past fifty anyway," "It's not the right time," "I can't be a hunter and a good father". Yadda yadda yadda. You deserve to be happy. You could work a 9 to 5 job and get hit by a bus when you're 37, or you could live til you're 98 and half-demented, sitting in some old folks home beside Sam, your grandkids at your feet begging you to tell 'em another one of your hunting stories. You never know what's going to happen so don't sell yourself short._

 _Now, I've already written Sam's letter, and frankly I'm getting kinda tired of writing, so I'll get to the point. You've gotta stop putting everyone else first all the time. I know that's what your daddy drilled into your head since you were a kid – "look after Sammy", "don't let anything happen to Sammy", "throw yourself in front of a train for Sammy". Well, he's a big boy now, you don't have to be poised to take a bullet for the kid every second of the day anymore. It's okay to be selfish sometimes, and it's okay to want things. For the love of God, Dean, let yourself be happy, even if that means telling your angel best friend that you've got a giant man-crush on him. I mean, c'mon, I know I'm getting on a bit, but I ain't blind. I've never seen you look at anyone the way you look at Cas. I'm not saying you have to marry the guy, I'm just saying there's something special there, that weird sonofabitch loves you, so don't throw that away._

 _Well that's pretty much it from me. I ain't planning on dying any time soon, but it's nice to know that when I'm finally pushin' up daisies, you can read this and I can still kick your ass from beyond the grave. It's weirdly satisfying. Long story short, you're a good man, start treating yourself like one. And for God's sake, talk to Cas._

 _Bobby_

Dean lowered the letter and looked up at Sam who was watching him with curiosity.

"Well?"

"You're right," Dean said, trying to wipe his eyes inconspicuously with his sleeve before Sam could see the tears that had been filling them as he read the letter. "He really doesn't sugar-coat it."

"So what now?"

"Now," Dean said, clearing his throat and folding up the letter, "I'm going to bed. And tomorrow, I've got a date with an angel."

"Wait, what?"

"Bobby says I need to talk to Cas," he said, indicating the folded letter in his hand, "so that's what I'm going to do." He slipped the letter into his back pocket and headed for his bedroom.

"Talk to him about what?" Sam asked, hurrying after Dean with a look of curiosity and barely concealed excitement. "Dean, talk to him about what?"

"Goodnight, Sam," Dean said firmly as he reached his room, but couldn't help the smile that crept onto his lips.

Sam grinned. "Goodnight, Dean." As Dean closed his bedroom door, he could have sworn he heard Sam whisper something to himself as he headed towards his own room. "Finally."

* * *

The next day, Dean walked in to the empty library and prayed aloud to Cas, both anxious and excited for what he was hoping to say. A minute passed, and Dean felt heart begin to beat more forcefully against his chest, as though it were as impatient as he was to talk to the angel. At long last, he heard the familiar rustle of wings and a deep, gravelly voice.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean looked up and smiled. "Hey, Cas."

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Everything's great actually," Dean said. "Come here, sit down." Cas did as he was told, watching Dean with curiosity, and sitting, as ever, just a little closer than necessary. When Dean found himself looking into Cas's concerned blue eyes, he realised he was a little nervous. "Okay," he began after a quick, steadying breath. "Sam found some old letters from Bobby, and one of 'em was addressed to me."

"What did it say?" Cas asked. Dean barely paused before he spoke again.

"He basically gave me the kick up the ass I needed to tell you that I love you." Cas's eyes widened, but Dean continued, determined to say everything now that he had started. "And I don't have any agenda; if you don't feel that way about me, fine, but I had to take the chance, y'know? I might live 'til I'm 98, and if I do, I'd really like to spend the next sixty years of my life with you."

Cas took a few seconds to reply, and Dean's confidence faded to slight panic.

"How long have you felt this way?" Cas asked slowly.

"Since not long after I met you," Dean admitted.

"You've loved me for years and you only just thought to tell me now?" Cas asked, rising to his feet, and Dean was surprised to hear the frustration in his voice.

"Give me a break," Dean said, standing up to meet him, looking down a few inches to meet his eyes. "For a long time I didn't even realise what I was feeling. I worried about you constantly when you were off fighting armies of angels, so every time I saw you, I felt this… like, rush of happiness, and I always thought it was just relief because you were safe. I never realised it was because you're the love of my goddamned life. And don't even get me started on -" but Dean was cut off by Cas stepping forward and kissing him, cutting him off mid-sentence. There was a moment of wide-eyed surprise before Dean took Cas's face in his hands and kissed him the way he had wanted to kiss him for seven years.

When they finally drew apart, Dean was slightly breathless. He caught Cas's eye and saw that he was smiling, and all at once, Dean knew that this was what had been missing from his life all this time. Cas was the reason behind everything he did, he was his first thought in the morning and his last at night; he was everything. He ran his fingers along the side of Cas's face in complete wonder and happiness, and he watched the angel's blue eyes close contentedly at his touch.

 _"Thank God for Bobby Singer,"_ he thought, before pushing his old friend from his mind altogether, and focussing solely on the love of his goddamned life.


	3. Go the Fuck to Sleep

**A/N Here is my rendition of 'Go the F**k to Sleep', narrated by Dean as he struggles to get human!Cas to sleep for the first time. Inspired by the original (very funny) poem by Adam Mansbach and the great Sam/Dean version by rockandroam on Tumblr. I'm sure it's already apparent, but there's strong language ahead.**

* * *

The bunker is quiet and dark now,  
The monsters aren't making a peep,  
I'm tired, it's time for bed, Cas.  
Please go the fuck to sleep.

I know being human is different,  
It's all new to you, Cas, so I'll keep  
my temper in check as you tell me,  
You don't fucking want to sleep.

The demons are curled up in Hell,  
The Reapers too tired to reap,  
Yes, I'll get you some cocoa, if you swear  
you'll go the fuck to sleep.

The Wendigos are deep in their slumber,  
The Djinn are all dead in a heap,  
Please, Cas, it's already two thirty.  
Lie the fuck down, angel, and sleep.

You miss having wings, and I get that,  
But my temper is rising real steep.  
I swear you're more trouble than Sam was.  
For real, lie the fuck down and sleep.

I leave and get into my PJs,  
But then I hear your floorboard creak,  
Why the hell are you out of your bed, man?  
Jesus Christ, what the fuck? Go to sleep.

I put you back under the covers,  
And wonder if Rohypnol is cheap.  
Hell no you can't go make a sandwich.  
You know where you can go? The fuck to sleep.

You tell me you're not even tired,  
I suggest you should try counting sheep.  
But that just confuses the shit out you.  
For real, shut the fuck up and sleep.

"Why am I counting the livestock?"  
I want to throw myself under a Jeep.  
How is it you can slay demon armies,  
But you can't lie the fuck down and sleep?

I'm in bed, and I think that you've settled,  
But then along to my bedroom you creep.  
Castiel, God help me, I'll kill you,  
If you don't go the fuck to sleep.

You're standing at my bedside, just staring.  
Honestly, Cas, I could weep.  
It should not be this goddamn hard.  
Stop fucking with me, please, and sleep.

You're saying you don't like the quiet.  
It's too silent, too scary, too deep.  
Sure, fine, whatever, climb in here.  
Who the fuck cares? I'm not gonna sleep.

You curl up beside me, real close,  
I hear your breath turning slower and deep.  
I pull you into my arms; you're safe and you smile.  
At last, we can both fucking sleep.

* * *

 **A/N Hope you enjoyed, please leave a review and let me know. This was based on an upcoming chapter, so stay tuned to see the full, non-poetic version coming soon!**


	4. Hero's Welcome

**A/N Hey, it's been a while! I was hoping to update this series weekly, but I'd rather only be uploading chapters I'm really happy with, and this is one of them. I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please drop me a review when you're done and let me know! C.**

* * *

The car door slammed shut, jolting Dean from his thoughts. Sam had sat down in the passenger seat and was holding out a gun for him, loaded with silver bullets. Dean had been thinking about Cas; it had been ten years since he had last seen his best friend, but ten years paled in comparison to the knowledge that he would never see him again. Heaven's door had been closed for a decade, humans and angels irrevocably separated in an attempt to finally restore order to the garrisons.

He remembered the day Cas left with painful clarity, he remembered Cas's face growing pale when he heard the news on angel radio. But more clearly than anything, he remembered the several hours of arguing that ensued, as Cas insisted that he stay on Earth, while Dean flat out refused to let him give up an eternity in Heaven for the sake of a couple of decades on Earth with him. Cas grew increasingly frustrated and hurt as Dean kept demanding that he return to Heaven, and for some reason, instead of simply explaining to Cas that he wanted what was best for him because he was completely and helplessly in love with him, all he said was "get your feathery ass back up to Heaven or so help me, Cas, I'll take that angel blade and send you there myself."

He missed Cas every day, he regretted everything he hadn't said, and he wished more than anything that they could have had a proper goodbye. He didn't even have the option of seeing Cas again in Heaven; he knew he had missed that boat a long time ago. He had killed too many innocent people to earn himself a place in Heaven when he died, but all he could hope was that he had saved enough innocent people along the way to at least keep him out of Hell.

"You ready?" Sam's words pulled him from his thoughts, and his brother was watching him with a sympathetic smile that told Dean he knew exactly who he was thinking about.

"Yeah," Dean said, forcing Cas from his mind and putting on a smile. "Let's gank this sonofabitch."

Dean and Sam ran through the dark forest, dodging trees and following the elongated footprints of the werewolf that had already torn apart seven people in north Wyoming. It wasn't their average werewolf case; the kills had been particularly brutal, and they had even considered the possibility that they were looking for an entirely new species of wolf.

After about five minutes, a shallow stream caused them to lose the trail, so they headed in opposite directions, Sam going left, Dean right. The pale disc of Dean's flashlight illuminated the damp, leafy ground in front of him as he ran, feeling the familiar thrill that always accompanied a hunt. A moment later he found a trail of deep claw marks in the soft dirt. He heard something move in the darkness in front of him and his head snapped up, eyes darting around as he stood perfectly still except for the rise and fall of his chest. There was silence and he began creeping forward again, looking from the tracks to the trees, waiting to see some movement in the darkness. When his eyes returned to the tracks, he saw that the footprints had diverged, leaving two distinct trails that both looped back behind him. Two werewolves. Dean realised at that moment that he wasn't hunting the wolves, he was being hunted.

"Sam!" he yelled, pointing his flashlight frantically in every direction. "Sam, there's two of 'em!" He had barely uttered the words when a dark shape leaped from the trees, half human, half animal, its teeth bared as it slammed into him. He wrestled it off of him, wincing away from its hot breath on his face. He took a few steps backwards, raised his gun and manage to shoot it in the shoulder; not enough to kill it, but enough to send it running. Before Dean had a chance to realise that it was running straight towards Sam, the second wolf burst from the darkness. He ducked backwards, but the wolf was faster. This time it hit Dean squarely on the shoulders and he was thrown against a tree. His head smacked hard against the trunk, and his gun fell from his hand. He heard it fall to the ground, but before he could find it, the werewolf was advancing again. It lunged for his neck, teeth bared, and Dean leapt aside at the last second. The wolf collided with the tree and Dean took advantage of the short pause to kick the creature hard in the chest. It reeled backwards but before Dean could land another blow, he heard the scuffling and growling of a struggle somewhere in the distance. The werewolf seemed to hear it too, because it turned from Dean, vanishing into the woods towards its mate. Dean picked up his flashlight and began scrabbling around in the leaves for his gun, trying furiously to blink away the specks of light that were flashing across his view of the dark forest floor.

"Dean!" Sam yelled. He searched frantically for another second but found nothing amongst the dead, disintegrating leaves.

"Damn it," he growled, turning and sprinting to his brother's aid, the beam from his flashlight swinging frantically as he ran.

When he reached Sam, he was already unconscious on the ground, the first wolf crouched over him. Dean ran towards his brother, catching the first wolf off guard and managing to lock his arm around its neck. It struggled against his grip, claws flailing and teeth gnashing at the air. But the second werewolf was already advancing on Sam's unconscious body. Dean swiftly snapped the first wolf's neck, and threw himself in front of his brother, knocking the second wolf to the ground, but before Dean could steady himself, it had dug its claws into his shoulders and pulled him down onto the forest floor. They grappled, and Dean landed several hits on the wolf, but it barely flinched, its front claws still locked in Dean's shoulders. He felt a white hot pain across his abdomen and the distinct sensation of its back claws dragging through his skin. The wolf drew itself up, one hand still pinning him, teeth bared to tear at his throat. With all of his strength, Dean kicked the wolf from him, and it skidded across the ground, turning immediately to leap at him again. Dean lunged for Sam's gun and pulled the trigger. The wolf's body fell heavily to the ground and Dean slumped backwards, gasping for breath.

After a few seconds, he tried to sit up but his hand slipped on something hot and wet beneath him and he fell backwards again. He raised his hand into the torchlight and saw that it was covered in his own blood that was already pooling beneath him. His hand went to his stomach and he felt the ripped material of his shirt, the hot, ragged edges of a wound and a gaping hole in his abdomen where there used to be muscle and skin. He let out a choked groan.

"Sammy?" he called, his voice breaking a little as it echoed in the silent woods. He heard someone moving in the leaves, and heard Sam's voice.

"Dean?"

"You okay?" Dean called.

"Yeah." There was a short pause while Sam climbed tentatively to his feet, nursing a head injury. Dean dared to glance down at his own injuries, praying they weren't as bad as they felt, but immediately wished he hadn't. He couldn't see anything expect a deep pool of blood submerging his exposed organs, and torn flesh hanging at his side.

"Well that's going to leave a mark," he muttered, before he was forced to lie back down. Sam stumbled a little as he hurried to his brother, a deep cut on his forehead, and his face grew instantly pale when he saw Dean's injuries, but he put on a calm air that was almost convincing.

"Come on, let's get you to a hospital," he said. Sam put his arm around Dean's shoulders and behind his knees and was about to lift him when Dean put his hand on Sam's jacket, pushing him away.

"C'mon Sammy, you know there isn't time for that," Dean said, already starting to feel exhaustion creeping though his body. "And besides, if I move, my insides ain't gonna stay on the inside." Sam's calm demeanour slipped and he shook his head, looking down at the gaping wound in his brother's flesh, the blood pooling on his stomach and overflowing on to the rotting leaves beneath him. "Anyway," he added, "you'd get blood all over my Baby, and that's a bitch to get out of the upholstery." Sam lowered him back down but kept his arm around his brothers shoulders, looking frantically around for some inspiration, some solution.

"What should I do?" Sam asked.

"Just sit with me for a minute," Dean said. "And calm down."

"Calm down?" he repeated. "There has to be something we can do. This can't be it. Not like this."

"Sammy," he said, fighting to keep the strain from his voice as he felt a cold spasm coarse through him. "The son of a bitch got me, that's part of the job. I'm just going out the same way hundreds of hunters have done before me. And hey, maybe I'll get to see Cas again." He didn't believe that, but he hoped that Sam would.

"Can't you wait another thirty years?" Sam asked, with a weak smile, tears spilling from his eyes. Dean laughed but was silenced by another wave of cold pain and the taste of blood at the back of his throat.

"I'd love to," he said, "but I don't think I'm getting a whole lot of choice." He took a few short breaths before he was able to speak again. "Listen, Sammy," he said, "whatever happens, wherever you think I've ended up, don't come looking for me."

"But Dean -"

"You'd better tell your kids about me," he said, cutting across him.

"I'm having kids?" Sam asked, his voice cracking.

"Sure, you deserve… a good life Sam." It was becoming harder to speak as the cold seemed to creep deeper into his body, slowly paralysing him.

He put a bloody hand on Sam's face. "You're gonna be fine, Sammy," he said, his voice fading to a whisper. He felt the cold drain from him and then he felt suddenly warm. Warm and numb. He could feel his brother clinging to him, as if he held on tightly enough, he could make Dean stay with him. Dean felt his last breath slip from his lips, and his brother's forehead pressed to his. _Please be okay, Sammy._

* * *

He didn't know how much time had passed, but he found himself standing in the dark. He looked around anxiously, but he was completely blind; all he could hear was a distant hiss and low moaning that seemed to be coming from every direction. He had been prepared for this, but that didn't stop the blinding panic when he realised he was back in Hell. He was going to lose himself again, become something he couldn't even recognise. He kept staring around, but there was nothing to see but darkness. He reached out blindly, half hoping, half terrified that he might touch something.

But then suddenly he could see as a large cloud glided aside to reveal a bright moon behind it, and he saw that he was standing on a dim road, wet with rain. It didn't look like Hell. He looked down to see the rest of his body in the same outfit he had been wearing in the woods, still drenched in blood, but not an injury in sight. He looked along the road in both directions, but he saw nothing except more trees and more road. He now realised that the hissing and moaning he had heard were actually the noises of the vast, endless forest either side of him. He didn't know what else to do, so after a second's deliberation, he chose a direction and started walking, sticking to the pale light of the moonlit road, not daring to venture into the trees that brought back so many memories of his last stay in Purgatory.

It began to rain, falling heavy and cold on his skin. He felt his hair begin to stick to his scalp and he wondered how long he could walk before someone or something emerged from the trees to attack him. Maybe this was what Purgatory looked like now, just one endless road. God, that would be boring. Dean thought of Sam as he walked, sick with guilt that his little brother was going to have to deal with his dead body, carry it from the woods, bury it, mourn for him. He didn't know how long he had been walking when he saw a sickly light creeping over the next shallow rise in the road. He stopped and considered turning back, instantly suspicious, but as he took another few steps, he saw a lone figure silhouetted against the grey glow, and his curiosity got the better of him.

At first he couldn't recognise the figure, but as he walked closer, his heart began to beat faster, as if it knew who it was before he did. He didn't really let himself believe it until he saw the familiar face, smiling warmly at him. Without a word, Dean walked straight into Cas's arms, as if the last ten years had just been one long journey towards this moment.

"It's been a while," Cas said, still smiling. Dean stepped back to take in his familiar face.

"What are you doing here?" Dean asked. "What is this place?"

"I don't know," said Cas, "it's a construct of your imagination."

Dean felt the relief vanish instantly. "You're not real."

"No, I am," Cas said quickly. "But everything else is just your mind trying to make sense of what's happened." Cas looked around at the creaking forest that faded into a dark and terrifying abyss then looked back at Dean, with a note of sadness in his blue eyes. "You were expecting Purgatory," he observed. Dean shrugged.

"Either that or Hell."

"Well I've come to take you to Heaven," Cas said, gesturing in the direction of the pale glow beyond.

"That can't be right," Dean said. "I don't belong in Heaven."

"Why not? You've sacrificed more in forty years than anyone should have to in a lifetime."

"I've got a lot of blood on my hands, Cas, you know that. I haven't done enough to deserve this."

"You've done more than enough," said Cas. "You just don't see it. You have never stopped fighting for what you believe in, and even if you didn't get it right every time, that doesn't mean you don't deserve an eternity of happiness." Dean opened his mouth to argue out of habit, but Cas cut across him. "If you'd like me to call Hell and have them come pick you up?" Dean managed a small laugh.

"No thanks, I just… I didn't see this coming that's all. I never thought I'd see you again."

"I wouldn't have let that happen," Cas said, simply.

"The last ten years all I've thought about is everything I should have said before you left. I wish you'd known how I felt about you before you left."

"Come on, Dean, you never needed to say it," said Cas. "I always knew."

"You knew."

"I'm not just a pretty face," Cas said, and Dean let out another little laugh.

"This feels different," Dean said, staring at the light emanating from over the rise in the road and feeling his expression fall again. "This is it, isn't it? I'm really dead this time?"

"Yes," Cas said gently. "This is it. There's no coming back." Dean nodded, trying to convince himself that that was okay.

"What about Sam?" he asked.

"He'll join you in Heaven when his time comes," said Cas. Dean felt a little better, but when he went to follow Cas, he found that he couldn't move; the finality was overwhelming, and he stood frozen, unable to do anything else except stare at the faint glow in the distance. He reached out blindly and grasped the angel's hand, and instantly felt himself steady.

"Will you stay with me?" he asked, pulling his eyes away from the horizon and meeting Cas's gaze.

"As long as you like."

"Is forever okay?" Dean asked.

"Forever is great," Cas said, smiling, and the last of Dean's fear vanished from him, and at last he found himself walking towards the Heavenly light. As they reached the top of the rise, Dean stopped abruptly when he saw at least a hundred angels standing looking up at him.

"What are they all doing here?" Dean asked, slightly wary of the small army standing in front of him, still holding Cas's hand.

"They're here to welcome you," said Cas. "You and the garrisons may have been at cross purposes over the years, but there wasn't a single angel here who could deny that this is where you deserve to be."

They took a few steps and the crowd of angels parted for them. As the light grew brighter, Dean saw the air above the angels begin to shimmer, and he realised that the light was illuminating the angels' wings that had been invisible to him until now. He could just make out the shapes of their wings spread behind them, huge and glass-like structures that looked nothing like they did on Earth, glittering every colour imaginable as the light filtered through them like a prism. Dean turned to Cas to see his vast wings spread behind him, high above Dean's head, casting multicoloured reflections on his face.

They had reached the end of the road; but instead of looking ahead to Heaven, Dean still had his eyes on Cas. Cas smiled at him and held his hand a little tighter as they stepped forward into the light.

"Welcome home, Dean."


	5. Revelations

**A/N So this is the companion story to the poem 'Go the F**k to Sleep' (chapter 3) Cas is having a hard time navigating his new human existence, and Dean is there to help... sort of. I really hope you enjoy!**

* * *

It was 3 a.m. when Dean's hand slipped from underneath his chin, jerking him awake at the library table. He rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a long sigh of exhaustion and looking down at the piles of books that surrounded him. He had been sitting there for hours, barely moving from the hard wooden chair, waiting for a call from an old friend of Bobby's who had been trying to gank a witch in Nebraska for just over a week. The hunter had been calling Dean periodically to ask him to research the lore, but so far they had found nothing of any use. He had promised to call back at two thirty with an update, but when Dean checked his cell phone, there were no calls, no messages. He felt the beginnings of concern pricking at his insides, but he was distracted when the thick silence was broken by the sound of footsteps and the scrape of a chair coming from down the corridor. He stood up, feeling the satisfying pop of several of his stiff joints, and went to knock on Cas's door. Dean pushed open the heavy door to find Cas standing in the middle of the floor, every surface covered in half-empty mugs of coffee.

"Cas it's three in the morning," Dean said, his eyes squinting in protest against the brightness of Cas's room.

"I know that."

"Why aren't you in bed?"

"I can't sleep," he said.

"How much coffee have you had?"

"I'm not sure," he said, looking down at the empty pot on his desk and the discarded mugs. "Six cups. Maybe seven." Dean was a little concerned as he looked at his friend, who had been human for less than a week, and by the looks of things, wasn't coping very well. His blue eyes were wide, flitting restlessly around his bedroom, but the dark streaks on his pale skin betrayed his exhaustion. Before he could say anything else, a glint of light caught Dean's eye and he looked to Cas's trash can which was overflowing with empty soda cans.

"Is that Red Bull?" Dean asked.

"The man on the television said it would give me wings."

"Okay, no more late-night T.V. for you," Dean muttered, taking Cas by the arm and sitting him down on the bed. "Now I could be wrong, but I think all of this coffee and Red Bull is the reason you can't sleep."

"I'm not awake _because_ of the caffeine, I'm drinking it because I don't want to sleep."

"Why not?" Dean asked. Cas frowned down at his white socks.

"I don't like it," he said, fidgeting where he sat.

"You don't like sleeping?" Dean asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"When I was an angel I was aware of everything that was going on around me, every second of the day. Now I can't hear anything on angel radio, I can barely hear what people are saying fifteen feet away from me, and when I sleep, I can't see or hear anything at all."

"And you feel vulnerable," Dean concluded. Cas nodded. "C'mon Cas, you know you're safe here."

"I know that, but I still don't want to sleep. It feels unnatural." Dean looked as Cas sitting hunched on the bed, a deep frown on his forehead, refusing to go to sleep, and he found himself struggling to keep the smile from his face. "What?" Cas demanded, irritably.

"I'm sorry, it's just you look so much like Sammy when he was a kid," Dean said, pressing his lips tightly together in order to keep a straight face, but Cas wasn't fooled.

"Dean please stop laughing," he said. "You have to understand that everything is new to me right now. I'm trying my best, but I can't tell the difference between something that is completely normal and something that might kill me. How do I know if I'm experiencing indigestion or a heart attack? How do I know if I just have a headache or something much worse? I have no frame of reference because I haven't spent the last 30 years of my life learning about this. It's all new so just give me a minute to navigate all these new feelings."

"Okay," Dean said, his smile well and truly gone now. "You know, if you're not sure about something, you can always ask me."

"Thank you," he said, although he still sounded a little sullen. "Trying to understand emotions is very taxing." Dean was about to get up and leave Cas in peace when a thought crossed his mind.

"But you had emotions when you were an angel, right? Surely they're the same now."

"I experienced emotions as an angel, but they were muted and somewhat limited. Obviously I could experience the basics: anger, sadness, happiness, but the more intricate emotions I didn't understand because I just didn't feel them."

"And now?"

"Well, now I can feel them but I still don't understand them."

"Then explain them to me," Dean said. Cas looked unsure for a moment, but he eventually gave a sigh of resignation.

"Ever since I became human there's been this constant weight on my chest, and I feel like someone has my stomach clenched in their fist."

"Oh boy, I know that one well," Dean said.

"What is it?" Cas asked, looking concerned.

"Nerves, or stress. You're probably just worried about everything that's going on right now. Being human, feeling vulnerable and scared, it takes its toll."

"That seems plausible," he said, nodding.

"And the six cans of Red Bull won't be doing you any favours either." Just then there was a soft knock at the door and they both looked round to see Sam standing in the doorway looking sleepy but curious.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Dean said, but before he could say anymore, his phone began to ring. It was Bobby's friend. "Crap, I have to take this," he said. "Sammy, would you take over here?" he asked before hurrying from the room towards the library, answering the call as he went.

Sam took Dean's spot on the bed. "What am I taking over?" he asked.

"I was explaining some of my emotions to Dean, the ones I don't fully understand since becoming human, and he was telling me what they might be."

"Okay," Sam said, turning to face Cas properly. "What's your next one?"

"Well sometimes I get this… I don't know how to explain it. It's like a fullness in my chest and my heart feels... warm. Perhaps it's some kind of infection..."

"How often does it happen?"

"Usually when I'm around Dean." Sam's eyes widened.

"Do you feel like you can't concentrate when you're with him?" asked Sam.

"Yes," Cas said, suddenly looking concerned. "It's serious isn't it?" he asked.

"Dude," Sam laughed, "you've got it bad." Cas's expression grew more worried.

"Got what? Is it a disease?"

"No," Sam said, "I think you're in love with him."

"That can't be right," Cas said. "Angels aren't supposed to fall in love."

"You're not an angel anymore, buddy. Maybe your grace was the only thing stopping you from realising it before now." The sound of footsteps grew louder in the corridor and Cas looked up quickly.

"Don't tell Dean," he said hastily, just a second before Dean reappeared in the doorway.

"How's it going in here?" he asked.

"Good," Cas said, looking up and Dean. He paused for a second before glancing at Sam. "I think I'm beginning to understand things a little better."

"Good," said Dean. "Now, I'm exhausted, and you need to get some sleep." Cas nodded.

"I will."

Sam and Dean bade Cas goodnight, and walked together towards their own rooms.

"Who was on the phone?" asked Sam.

"Taylor Blake, remember him? He's been trying to gank a witch in Nebraska for a week. Cut off her head and everything and she just stuck it back on."

"That's impossible," said Sam.

"That's what I said. Couldn't find a damn thing in the lore about a witch that powerful, but we found a way."

"What did he do?"

"He pulled a Bobby."

"He put a witch through a wood chipper?" Sam asked, looking half horrified, half amused.

"Never fails." Dean said with a smile, stopping as he reached his door. He reached out for the door handle, but turned back to his brother. "Does Cas seem okay to you?" he asked.

"Yeah, he's okay." said Sam. "After all," he added carefully, "everyone has feelings they can't explain, right?"

"Right," said Dean, looking at his brother curiously. "Night, Sammy."

"Goodnight, Dean," he said, with a slight smile.

Dean got ready for bed, pulling on a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, and climbed under the cool covers. He lay in the silence, but instead of sleep creeping up on him, Sam's words emerged from the quiet and began running in circles around his mind. _Everyone has feelings they can't explain._ That was exactly why Dean didn't like to pry too deeply into his own mind, because it will full of confusing, incomprehensible feelings that he was not inclined to tackle. It felt like an unnecessary risk, like poking a bear or picking up a grenade and giving it a good shake. As he lay on his back trying to force his unprocessed feelings back into the deep recesses of his mind where they belonged, he became very aware of the sound of movement still emanating from Cas's room. He tried to ignore it, but after ten minutes of muffled noise, he threw back the covers and walked to Cas's room. He knocked and opened the door before Cas had replied.

"I thought I told you to go to bed," Dean said, vaguely registering the familiarity of the words he had spoken so many times to Sam in the past.

"I tried."

"No you didn't. Get into bed, switch out the lights and shut your eyes, it's not rocket science."

"You're mad at me," Cas said, with an uncharacteristic sadness.

"No," Dean said, rubbing his hand over his face and forcing himself to soften his voice, "I'm sorry, I'm just tired. And so are you. You're going to make yourself sick. Humans aren't supposed to go without sleep, it makes you crazy."

"Okay," said Cas, climbing into bed. "Goodnight." Dean glanced back at him, looking small and sorrowful under the covers, and felt a wave of sympathy for him and his new mortality. Dean wished him goodnight and clicked off the light switch, traipsing back to his room, his legs heavy, his eyes beginning to burn with exhaustion. He lay down and listened, but now he could hear nothing but the soft hum of the pipes in the walls. He closed his eyes and felt himself begin to fade into the warm and comforting depths of sleep, but a few seconds later he was pulled back into the cold waking world by the sound of Cas's door creaking open, and soft footsteps approaching. Dean groaned and sat up, but the footsteps fell silent outside his door.

"Cas I know you're there. What do you want?" he asked, all sympathy evaporating immediately. Cas pushed the door open, but stared apologetically at the floor.

"It's too quiet," he said.

"It's supposed to be," Dean said, throwing himself back onto his pillow, vivid memories of sleepless nights with Sam rushing to the forefront of his mind, years of latent frustration appearing from nowhere.

"It was never this quiet in the bunker when I was an angel," Cas said, his voice low and serious at the end of the bed. "I could always hear you breathe."

"Cas, that's unbelievably creepy." When he opened his eyes again, Cas was standing directly over him. "For the love of -"

"Can I stay in here tonight?" Cas asked. Dean stared up at him and his sad frown. "I don't want to be in silence."

"Get in," Dean sighed, shuffling over slightly and lifting the covers to allow Cas entry. He felt Cas's weight on the bed, and without really thinking, he put his arm around him, pulling him into the warmth. Cas didn't question the arrangement, he just shifted into a comfortable position with his head resting by Dean's shoulder. Dean didn't speak for a few moments, he just lay listening to the sounds of Cas's breathing as it fell in and out of sync with his own. "Better?" Dean asked after a minute, his voice quiet and hoarse, but when he glanced down to Cas he saw that he was already fast asleep. Dean found his gaze lingering on Cas's peaceful face against his shoulder, and he felt a soft smile on his lips as all of those scary, inexplicable feelings at the back of his mind came forward into the light, and he realised that they weren't so scary after all. As he closed his eyes and pulled Cas's warm body closer to his, everything seemed to fall perfectly into place.


End file.
